


Art History

by ami_ven



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Community: writerverse, F/M, Monuments Men AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack’s team is unconventional, but they’re his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art History

**Author's Note:**

> written for LJ community "writerverse" prompts "historical challenge" & "candle"

Jack found Daniel in the ruins of the local church, nailing shut the last crate of carefully-packed art items. “Danny, truck’s leaving!” he called. “Last call for anything or anyone wanting a ride.”

“Help me carry this outside,” Daniel replied, not looking up. “And I’m not going on the truck.”

“This is a warzone,” said Jack.

Daniel pushed his glasses back up on his nose. “Really? I was wondering what all those exploding sounds were.”

“Funny,” Jack deadpanned, but he grabbed the other end of the crate. “What’s in here? It weighs half as much as the last one.”

“Icons,” Daniel replied. “Traditional paintings of religious—”

“Forget it, I don’t want to know,” Jack muttered. 

Outside, a standard Army truck idled on the corner, already nearly full of similar crates. “Allow me, O’Neill,” said T, taking the crate from them, managing it more easily by himself than they had done together.

“Sure,” Jack muttered. “Daniel, in you go.”

“I said, I’m not going,” the other man repeated. “There’s a dozen more churches in this area, Jack, not to mention private collections that may have been abandoned in the evacuation, damaged in the bombings. No, I’m staying with you.”

“You’re an _archaeologist_ ,” Jack protested, just as the whine of fighter planes could be heard overhead, growing louder. “Dammit.”

The driver of the truck leaned out the window. “We’d better get this stuff out of here, colonel. Is Dr. Jackson coming with us?”

“No,” said Daniel, just as Jack said, “Yes.”

The engines were getting louder by the second. “Incoming!” yelled Sam, barreling down the street from her lookout position. “I count twelve German fighters, sir.”

“Dammit,” Jack said again. “Reynolds, go. Get back to base with this junk. Daniel—” He made a frustrated noise, then sighed. “I’ll deal with you later.”

“Go, Reynolds!” Daniel shouted, and the truck drove off at top speed.

“Back into the church,” Jack ordered. There was a louder rumble under the high whine of the fighters— a bomber escort. “Carter, these walls will hold, right?”

She looked at the structure around them. “They’re native stone, sir. Looks like a mix of granite and similar hard elements, and the stonework seems stable.”

“So… it’ll hold, right?”

“Yes, sir,” said Sam. “And if it doesn’t, we’ll probably be crushed before we even realize it.”

“Ah,” said Jack, “I feel _much_ better.” He raised his voice. “SG-1, bring it in!”

There was a scrambling sound from the end of the street opposite where Sam had been, as their two remaining lookouts came in. “Two bombers, twelve escorts, colonel,” said Mitchell, and Vala grinned, “And he fell down the stairs.”

“Did not,” Mitchell protested.

“It would be prudent to move indoors immediately,” interrupted T, before they could get arguing properly. 

Inside the church, Jack and T moved a carved wood pew against the doors, while Vala found a large candle, and Daniel, Sam and Mitchell gathered the kneelers to pile in one corner of the vestry, as the first bomb dropped, close enough for them to hear the rubble fall in its wake.

Jack settled onto a pile of cushions and looked around at his team. He’d been assigned to Daniel as part of the Monuments Men project, carting valuable artworks to safety at the front of the German lines. Technically, Sam had been assigned as their secretary, when whatever idiot did the assigning thought Daniel would stay in some office somewhere, but she knew nothing about art and a surprising amount about blowing things up. T had been held in a manor house they’d broken into, left behind by whatever Nazi sicko had been experimenting on him— he had odd scars on his forehead and stomach, but never spoke of them. Mitchell had been a pilot until a leg injury— he’d taken shrapnel defending Jack, Daniel and Sam, not that he’d known it at the time— had grounded him, and Vala was a European native of vague ancestry who’d latched onto Daniel and refused to be left behind.

It was a team the Army probably frowned upon, back in some clean, safe headquarters, but they were Jack’s team, and he was proud of them. He grinned and fished a flask from his jacket pocket. “Carter?”

She took it from him, and took a long swig, as the bombing grew louder around them.

“I’m thinking we’ll hit Paris tomorrow,” Jack said, tucking his arms under his head.

Sam laughed. “Sounds great, sir. I know a great little café.”

He grinned. “It’s a date, Carter.” 

THE END


End file.
